


Practice

by disarm_d



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disarm_d/pseuds/disarm_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“So, like, I’ve been thinking about gay sex,” Harry says over breakfast.</i>
</p><p> First times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice

**Author's Note:**

> Super thanks to proteinscollide and okubyo_kitsune for betaing, to sunsetmog for Britpicking, with blame to estrella30 for talking about the basic premise in the first place.
> 
> Warnings for unrealized Harry/Nick Grimshaw.

“So, like, I’ve been thinking about gay sex,” Harry says over breakfast. It’s proper breakfast with eggs, bacon, sausages, tomatoes and mushrooms. If Zayn weren’t so wretchedly hungover right now, he would certainly be enjoying this breakfast.

They’re going to be late for bus call -- fully late, even including the half hour leeway that Paul usually affords them before he comes knocking -- so it wasn’t the best idea to order food, but Harry called room service while Zayn was still asleep and now here it is.

“Like, to have some,” Harry says.

“Orange juice?” Zayn asks.

“Gay sex,” Harry says.

“You can’t have gay sex if you’re not gay,” Zayn says. “Pass the orange juice.”

Harry mulls it over while he passes Zayn the bottle. “That’s a point, I guess.” He spears a sausage with his fork and lifts the entire thing to his mouth, chewing on the end. He’s doing it on purpose, Zayn is entirely certain.

“Mh-hm,” Zayn says. He really wants to shower but it’s just a matter of time before someone comes to drag them to the bus. Zayn hates having to skip his morning shower. But even more than that, he hates waking up early enough to have enough time for one.

“Sex with men,” Harry says. “So, like, I’ve been thinking about sex with men.”

“Cool,” Zayn says. There’s an endgame here but Zayn’s too hungover to figure it out and Harry is apparently still drunk. The Jäger bombs might have been a bad idea. Always hard to tell how that’s going to work out.

“It’s just that -- I haven’t,” Harry admits, as if he’s sharing a secret.

“You haven’t had sex with men?” Zayn asks.

“No.” Harry shakes his hair into his face and then tucks it away from his eyes.

“Well, yes?” Zayn says. “Obviously?”

“But I was thinking I might have some.”

“Some sex,” Zayn says. “With men.” Where is Paul, anyway? He’s being quite slack and they’re certainly going to be late.

“I was thinking about it.”

“Congratulations,” Zayn says. “Sometimes when people think about sex they don’t feel compelled to share those thoughts, but I’m glad we could do this over breakfast.”

“You’ve had sex with men,” Harry says.

“Yup. Thoughts and action, look at me go,” says Zayn.

“And how did you find that?”

“The sex with men?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Harry gives Zayn a considering look and nods to himself, as if Zayn had just shared an important insight.

“ _Are_ you still drunk?” Zayn asks. “Don’t tell Paul. Or Liam.”

“I’m not drunk,” Harry says, but that’s also what he says when he _is_ drunk.

“You can tell _me_ ,” Zayn says.

“It’s just that I believe in having, like, um, a multiplexity of experiences,” Harry says. “And I realized there was this huge omission.”

“I meant about being drunk,” Zayn says. “Your sexual experiences are probably not something that we ever need to talk about. Over breakfast, anyway.” 

“About having sex with men? Because I thought it might be fun.”

“You’ve moved past thinking. Or, I guess, you’re thinking about moving past thinking.”

“Well, I haven’t succeeded in doing it, but I did make a plan.”

“It’s not something that would be difficult for you to accomplish,” Zayn says. “You just need to look into the crowd and point. Enter any room and reach for the nearest male body.”

“But it’d be my first time,” Harry says. “I might be a bit embarrassing.”

“So you came to me for a pep talk?” Zayn asks. 

“I thought maybe it could be with you.”

“The pep talk?”

“The sex.”

“What?”

Harry sets his fork down and looks Zayn in the eye, which is weird in and of itself. Harry usually just mutters into his collar while he texts and then acts surprised when they miss the punchlines of his stories.

“Well, you’ve had boyfriends before,” Harry says.

“One boyfriend.” Zayn dated Keith for like six months and the only reason why he told the guys is because, well, mostly because he tells them everything and also that one time they played a rather aggressive game of _I Never_ when they were in America, but that evening is mostly just a hazy blur of vodka shots. 

“Who you had gay sex with.”

“Kind of,” Zayn says. “I bisexually sexed with him.” He had a reasonable amount of sex with Keith, given that they were seventeen and still living in their parents’ houses and absolutely no one could find out about it. Not really anything to brag about, except that sometimes he does.

“So I was thinking you’d be a good person to practice gay sex with.” 

“Practice for what?”

Harry considers the question, his fork hovering in the air just in front of his mouth. A piece of egg falls off it and lands on his lap.

“I guess it’s not practice,” Harry says eventually. “Just more of a _tick_ , there you go, nailed that one.”

“Nailed,” Zayn says. “Nice.”

“Think about it, yeah?” Harry says, and then, like the bastard he is, he pushes his plate away and grabs for his bag just in time to greet Paul, who throws open the door and says, “What part of 11 am bus call is so confusing to you?” and then _Zayn’s_ the one who’s making them late. What a set up.

\--

“Think about it?” Harry says again once they’re on the bus, crowding up beside Zayn as he throws his kit into the storage bin under the bunks. He slides his hand around Zayn’s lower back, finger tips starting to curl around Zayn’s hip. Harry’s just tall enough to pull it off, the entire length of his body pressed against Zayn’s back for one long moment before he pulls away. Zayn’s back feels cold now that the heat of Harry’s body is gone. He presses his palm against the wall for balance and doesn’t look back at Harry. That bastard.

Zayn spends the rest of the bus trip having a contest with Louis to see who can make a fork stick in the wall by chucking it across the room. It’s harder than it looks.

\--

Zayn thinks about it.

\--

“Niall,” Zayn says, perching up on the counter in their dressing room as Niall fusses with his fringe in the mirror. “On a scale from one to ten, how bad an idea would it be to sleep with a friend? I’m asking on behalf of a friend. Who wants to sleep with me.”

“That’s kind of the same as asking for yourself then, isn’t it?” Niall points out.

“No,” Zayn says. Then, “So?”

“I don’t know,” Niall says, shrugging. “Sex is usually good and more sex is better than less sex, so I’m going to rate that a medium.”

“I should have just asked Liam,” Zayn says.

\--

“Absolutely not,” Liam says.

\--

“I’m flattered,” Louis says, “but I must remind you that I have a girlfriend.”

“I don’t mean _you_ ,” Zayn says. “Oh my god.”

“O-kay,” Louis says, widening his eyes. “You don’t need to bite my head off. I _totally_ believe that you have friends other than me who you would like to sleep with.” He contorts his entire face winking and Zayn reaches over to flick him on the forehead.

“It was hypothetical.”

“I totally believe that you have hypothetical friends,” Louis says. “Don’t worry about it, you’re quite pretty and I’m sure loads of people fancy you.”

“You’re the tiebreaker, Lou,” Zayn says. “Give me a yes or a no.”

Louis taps his finger against the bridge of Zayn’s nose and says, “You’re asking me if it’s a good idea to do something that you clearly already know is a bad idea. Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

\--

“Yeah, okay, let’s do it,” Zayn says once they’re all piled into the back of the van, heading back to the hotel. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry cheers, pumping his fist into the air.

Zayn ducks his head, but none of the other guys are paying them any attention. Harry also cheers when there are croissants for breakfast. The main thing about Harry is that he’s quite good at getting what he wants, but that’s usually because he can make what he wants sound like a really great idea. And also because usually what he wants is sex. 

Zayn hasn’t been pining, but he’s thought about it before, having sex with Harry. Of course he has.

“What brought all this on, anyway?” Zayn asks. “Are you finally getting to the end of your bucket list? What do you call those when they’re all about sex?”

“I guess just a good bucket list,” Harry says. “Well thought out. Prioritized.”

Zayn snorts.

“I don’t know,” Harry says. Then, “Nick is gay.”

“Nick is also very tall,” Zayn says. “Has a decent quiff. You don’t have to do everything that Nick does.”

“I know,” Harry says. It takes him like twenty seconds to say two syllables, but he also makes it seem like he was saying a lot more than just that. 

Zayn is fluent in Harry. “So why didn’t you ask _him_ then?”

“I considered that,” Harry says, “but I thought that might get awkward. Like, he might think I was just using him or something. To figure myself out.”

“You _would_ be using him,” Zayn says. “You’re using _me_.”

“Yeah, but, like, in a friendly way,” Harry says.

“I’m glad that your plan is for the sex to be friendly,” Zayn says. “And also that you’re being careful of Grimmy’s feelings.”

Zayn already spends so much time with Harry, he’s not looking for more than they’ve already got. But he quietly files away that it’s Nick Grimshaw who has Harry thinking about gay sex, locks it into that quiet place where he holds onto anything that might be a safeguard against future stupidity.

“I’ll also be careful of your feelings,” Harry says, throwing his arm around Zayn’s shoulder. He’s ridiculous, but earnest, and somehow believable.

Harry can’t get as close as he wants to, so he undoes his seatbelt and closes the space between them, resting his cheek against Zayn’s.

In the row of seats in front of them, it seems like Louis is trying to get a grip on Liam’s balls, groping in between his legs and tugging at the handful of denim.

“I don’t deserve this,” Liam cries out, trying to curl away, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest.

As far as Zayn knows, after tonight, he and Harry will be the only ones in the group who have actually slept together, but in the context of all the other craziness, it’s not as strange as it could be. He hooks his leg over Harry’s knee and closes his eyes for the rest of the drive.

\--

They get to the hotel and Paul hands out keycards. Zayn tucks the plastic card in his pocket while he looks across the group at Harry.

Harry knocks on his door a couple of hours later, once Zayn has already showered, redressed, done his hair, and is propped up in the middle of the bed on a mountain of pillows. Hotels always have way too many pillows for sleeping, but just enough for curling up to watch TV.

“I said I was going to the bar,” Harry says, “because if I said I was going to see you, Louis would have wanted to come. So don’t say you saw me.”

“What if I ran into you at the bar?”

“Why would you have been at the bar?”

“Maybe I needed a drink,” Zayn says.

“Why wouldn’t you have used the minibar in your room?”

“I’m not made of money, Harold.”

“Do you actually need a drink?” Harry asks. “I’m not sure where this is going, but we _can_ go out --”

“Just get over here,” Zayn says. “I thought you were supposed to be good at this.”

“I didn’t know we had started yet,” Harry says. “Not fair.”

“You’re in my hotel room, waiting for sex. Of course we’ve started.”

Harry takes that as the challenge it was meant to be and crosses the room, climbing up on Zayn’s bed and throwing his shirt off before they’ve even touched. It’s basically the same as every other hotel night, watching TV in bed while Harry slow strips down to his pants, except this time Harry crawls over until his knees are pressed up against Zayn’s thigh, braces himself with a touch of his fingers to the wall behind Zayn’s head, and dips in for a kiss. Zayn grabs Harry’s t-shirt, pushing at Harry’s shoulders until Harry lies down on the bed and Zayn can straddle his hips.

The trick is to pretend that Harry is a stranger, because it’s pretty fucked up to be kissing _Harry_.

He sucks on Harry’s tongue, scrunches his eyes closed tightly and then opens them again when the kiss gets too good, the steady push of Harry’s tongue against his own. They’re too close for him to be able to see Harry’s face, so he looks around Harry’s head at the pillow on the bed. His dick feels like, okay, let’s do this, let’s make something happen here, and he tries to take a calming breath but then he thinks -- what the hell, Harry’s a sure thing, and goes for Harry’s belt buckle.

It takes approximately one and a half seconds to get Harry all the way naked, so that’s one thing he’s got going for him.

“It’s not that different,” Harry says when Zayn pulls back far enough to tug off his own t-shirt.

“Kissing a bloke?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees. “Kissing’s kissing.”

Harry says. “I thought it would be weirder,” in this way that makes Zayn think Harry has been puzzling over this for a _while_ , that his suggestion was the culmination of more thought than Harry had really let on earlier.

“I’m sure _talking_ about it will help make it weirder,” Zayn says, and then presses his mouth to Harry’s again just in case Harry actually wants to keep chatting. This is already more talking than Zayn is used to, definitely more talking than when _he_ slept with a guy for the first time. However long Harry has been wondering about this, Zayn is sure it doesn’t compare to the amount of time Zayn spent -- alone in his bedroom or doodling in his exercise book instead of taking notes during lessons or walking home drunk from another stupid party.

Harry slides his hands down Zayn’s back to rest on his hips, his face going cross when he realizes that Zayn is still wearing jeans.

“Umm,” Harry says, sliding his hand around to reach for Zayn’s zip. “Yeah?”

Zayn nods and rolls his hips to help Harry get his jeans and boxers down in one go, the both of them kicking at the material to push it past the jut of Zayn’s ankles and onto the floor. Harry stretches, squirms around underneath Zayn until their legs tangle. The whole thing feels a bit formal, like here they are, going through the motions: kissing and then getting naked and then whatever comes next. Harry’s flushed all across the top of his chest and his mouth looks all soft and pink. It feels like maybe they could keep kissing for a while longer, but that’s not -- Zayn doesn’t even _like_ kissing, not really. Not for longer than it takes to convince someone that they should be interested in exchanging orgasms. He doesn’t trust the open needy look on Harry’s face, doesn’t trust _himself_ against that look.

Zayn exhales slowly and then scoots backwards on the bed until he’s in between Harry’s legs, drops to his elbow and reaches for Harry’s cock with his other hand. Harry gasps at the first touch of Zayn’s tongue, his stomach clenching as he rocks into the grasp Zayn has on the base of his cock. Blowjobs seem safer than kissing.

Harry’s hand comes down and his fingers twist in Zayn’s hair and Zayn’s not sure at first -- he’s not a fan of having his hair pulled -- but Harry pets him, his fingers rubbing gently along the back of Zayn’s head, and that’s even weirder. He’s just touching; he brushes his fingers along the shell of Zayn’s ear and Zayn can’t even concentrate on sucking cock because it’s making his own dick twitch. The slide of Harry’s fingers through his hair feels intimate, and Zayn doesn’t know what to make of that. He and Keith weren’t boyfriends before they started sleeping together -- he’s not even sure that Keith would ever have called them _boyfriends_ , but that’s how Zayn thought about them and he’s allowed to tell the story any way he wants now. He’s never had someone pet his hair while Zayn sucked his cock.

Harry didn’t specify exactly what he wanted to get out of this whole gay sex experience, but Zayn pulled condoms and lube out of his suitcase and set them up on the bedside table, and then he spent a long time in the shower rubbing himself clean with soapy fingers. It’s probably time to get on with that instead of losing himself in the soft touch of Harry’s hand in his hair, the low sounds Harry makes.

Zayn pulls off Harry’s cock with a long wet slurp, pausing to suck on just the head until Harry gasps sharply before he gives one final lick and lifts his head.

“So, blowjobs,” Zayn says. “You already know how that goes.” He didn’t know how they were actually going to discuss this so he didn’t think it through ahead of time, but it turns out it’s easy to say, “You can fuck me now.” It’s just Harry, and of course Harry wants to. It’s not like being a teenager and knowing without a doubt that he would get the shit kicked out of him at school if anyone ever found out. Somehow _this_ , just a friendly shag with Harry Styles, has ended up being the safest he’s ever felt having sex with another bloke. They’re not hiding in Zayn’s bedroom, no music on because they have to be sure they’ll hear when Zayn’s parents come home. They’re not drunk and they’re not at a club and they’re both equally invested in making sure this never becomes public knowledge. Zayn tries not to dwell on the newness.

“Really?” Harry asks, his face lighting up. Then, like he suddenly remembers that he’s supposed to be a nice boy, he adds, “Are you sure?”

Zayn reaches for where he left the lube, flops onto his back on the bed beside Harry, presses his fingers between his legs, hooking the first two inside and pushing down against the burn. It’s a terrible angle and he can hardly get past the first tight clench. He lifts his hand to drip more lube onto his fingers and then shoves them back inside where he’s wet now and pushing past the resistance is easier.

He doesn’t look over at Harry, because it’s one thing to be watched and another thing to watch himself being watched. Or -- he doesn’t mean to look over at Harry, but he glances up in spite of himself and then has to close his eyes again when he catches the look on Harry’s face, all focused and flushed.

“Okay,” Zayn says, sitting back. He ignores the slick feeling along the crease of his ass and reaches for a condom, which he rolls onto Harry’s dick with a quick slide of his fingers. He holds up the bottle and drizzles lube over Harry’s cock. The extra tip of plastic from the condom puckers over the head of Harry’s cock and the first drip of lube slides off onto Harry’s stomach. Zayn adjusts his angle, manages to get at least a little squirt where he needs it to be: good enough. He caps the bottle and throws it back onto the bedside table, the bottle bumping up against the side of the lamp.

Zayn says, “Come on, then,” and sets himself onto his hands and knees, waiting for Harry to come up behind him.

He hasn’t been fucked in a long time now and he feels this stupid hint of nervousness, even though there’s no reason for it. It’s not like his first time, before he knew what he had to do so that it wouldn’t hurt. It’s not like being seventeen and trying to figure out how he’s going to make it fit inside using only spit. When he and Keith first started fucking, he hated it while it was happening but still wanted to do it again and again, even though he always felt raw afterwards, even though he never learned to like it the way he thought he would. He doesn’t understand why that happens -- when the wanting comes before the liking. That’s how he feels about fame sometimes: he wants it and he can’t stand the idea of not having it, but then there’s so much that goes along with it that he hates.

Harry pushes his dick inside and it’s weird and it hurts, but just sharply for a moment, stretching open around the head of Harry’s cock and then eventually the entire length of Harry’s dick.

“Alright, then?” Harry asks before he starts to move, fucking Zayn slow and steady. It’s nice, being fucked like this. Easy to relax. _Tick_ , he thinks on Harry’s behalf. Another thing crossed off the list. He wonders how many things Harry still wants to try. There can’t be that many left. Zayn’s got his own list, but it’s embarrassing, worse than any of the dirty shit Harry wants to try. Zayn’s list just says, _Fall in love_.

Harry reaches around and, Zayn thinks, oh, lovely, the tight grasp of his palm around his cock. Except not quite, because then he doesn’t get any real rhythm going with his hand, just muffles a noise against Zayn’s shoulder and starts fucking him harder. It brings some of the sharpness back, but it’s not bad; he pushes back into it instead of trying to get Harry to slow down again. Maybe that’s what it means to be an adult -- knowing he can tell Harry to stop if it hurts without feeling too... embarrassed or needy or whatever it was he used to get hung up on. He doesn’t know why he used to waste so much time having bad sex.

Harry fucks him harder and the sharp feeling dulls, spreads, twists up inside of him. Zayn pants into the pillow and thinks for one desperate moment that maybe he can come from this, just from the tight, unmoving grip of Harry’s hand around his cock, but -- not quite.

Harry comes, and his grip gets even tighter and, oh god, Zayn wants this so badly. Harry sucks in his breath sharply, rides out his orgasm so deep inside, rocking even closer. Zayn drops his head to rest on his forearm, braced on the bed. He can feel Harry panting into his shoulder. He’s still got his hand wrapped around Zayn’s cock and Zayn just wants some fucking friction, anything to distract from the heavy weight of Harry slumped against his back and the fact that he’s going to move away soon, fuck, fuck, Zayn can’t stand the idea of Harry watching as he gets himself off but Harry isn’t _moving_ and Zayn is going to have to.

Zayn pushes even more weight onto his forearm, leaves his head down, and reaches back with his other hand, tugging Harry’s fingers away.

The sound is mostly muffled by the press of his face into his arm when Zayn mutters, “Would you just fucking --” but finally Harry lets go.

Zayn pulls hard on his cock, feeling the wet slip of his fingers over the head of his dick where he’s leaking, fuck, he’s so close and he just wants to _come_ , but it’s hard to focus when he can feel Harry easing his cock out of Zayn’s ass.

“Roll over,” Harry says, and Zayn doesn’t want to _stop_ so he ignores Harry.

Harry taps at Zayn’s side, and says again, “Roll over,” and Zayn is going to have to kill him but then Harry says, “Roll over, I’ll blow you.”

“If you would just shut up for two seconds, I can just--”

Harry taps at his side again and Zayn thinks, _fuck,_ because of course Harry Styles is tapping on him when there are supposed to be orgasms happening. Zayn rolls onto his back. His knee bangs into Harry’s thigh because Harry is still right _there_ and it takes them a moment to sort themselves out again, Harry crouching over one of Zayn’s legs.

“I’ve never done this before,” Harry says, and Zayn groans, “I _know_ ,” because he remembers already, he hasn’t forgot what they’re doing, but is it ever going to be time for orgasms?

Harry licks at the head of Zayn’s cock, and Zayn knows he’s supposed to be patient while Harry figures this out, but he’s worried that he’ll _say_ something if Harry doesn’t hurry up. The top of Harry’s head looks really pretty and Zayn almost wants to touch his hair, but he hesitates, because maybe he shouldn’t make this about touching when it was supposed to be about sex.

“You can say if I should do something different,” Harry says, and Zayn realizes that he’s frozen on the bed, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

“Just don’t stop,” Zayn says. He lets himself relax, pressing his heel into the mattress. His knee falls to the side, opening the space between his thighs. He closes his eyes and tangles his fingers in the sheets.

Harry hums, and then his fingers slip down to prod gently at Zayn’s hole. Zayn doesn’t know what to do because he’s so fucked out already but the ache feels more like wanting than actual pain. He waits and Harry’s fingers slip inside, both of them, all the way in and Zayn can feel Harry’s palm rubbing up against the underside of his balls.

Zayn shivers and has to reach a hand up to scrub through his hair in an effort to calm himself down. He doesn’t even feel like he’s going to come now, like his body is riding right on top of an orgasm and he’s just sweating and shaking and rocking back onto Harry’s fingers and then Harry leans down and opens his mouth around Zayn’s cock. His soft tongue and the ring of his lips sliding down Zayn’s dick. Soft. Everything’s too soft -- the wet heat of Harry’s mouth and the ease of his fingers sliding so carefully inside. It would be easier if Harry made it hurt a little bit because right now Zayn can’t stand the hot, slow suck of Harry’s mouth against the blunt pressure of his fingers inside. He doesn’t understand how Harry knows how to do it like this, all slow and slick and terrible. Harry sleeps around a lot, but it’s usually just one night stands: he shouldn’t know better than Zayn does how to make sex feel like a connection.

For a second Zayn thinks he’s going to start crying but then he comes instead, everything swelling up in one long, endless rush, his hips shuddering helplessly into the slick suction of Harry’s mouth. The build up is so long that Zayn feels like he’s never going to crest, he can’t even imagine the comedown, but Harry coaxes him through it.

Zayn comes and his hips jerk helplessly, his body gone past his control. Harry keeps touching him, and that’s what is weird about this: he’s already used to being touched by Harry. He already knows the weight of Harry’s hands, and even though he can’t help the way he shivers, he trusts Harry. He thinks Harry must trust him, too. Somewhere in the wondering that led up to this, he thought of Zayn. For all his openness, Harry has better self-preservation than they give him credit for. If Zayn could go back in time, he’d do it like that too: wait until he found someone he trusted.

The first time Zayn had sex, it was early afternoon, and he was back home before tea. He’d been saying all week that he would wash his dad’s car so he grabbed a rag made out of old checkered pyjamas and half a bottle of the lemon yellow car soap. Somewhere between wiping down the car and spraying it clean with the hose, he lost his breath and couldn’t find it again for the rest of the weekend. He thought of telling Danny, but instead they just went to another stupid party that night and Zayn drank until he threw up into a well-tended flower bed of bright pink petunias.

“There,” Zayn says, ignoring the way his voice is shaking. “Now you’ve had your multitude of experiences or whatever.”

Harry curls up beside him, not spooning properly because Zayn is lying on his back, but he does flatten his palm across Zayn’s breastbone.

“It wasn’t that different,” Harry says, his chin rubbing against Zayn’s collarbone. “Sex is sex.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “Not that different. Guess you didn’t have anything to worry about.”

“Maybe not,” Harry says.

Zayn drops his cheek against Harry’s head and listens as Harry’s breathing starts to slow. He wonders if Harry is going to go back to his own room now, if he’s going to tell anyone that they did this. In this moment he feels closer to Harry than he’s ever felt to anyone before, but he knows it’ll fade once the last of his orgasm has washed away. He imagines that he can read Harry’s mind, and maybe he can. Maybe his thoughts and Harry’s have twisted together and he does know what Harry is thinking because it’s the same thing running through his head -- both of them wishing that their first time had been with someone else.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [livejournal](http://disarm-d.livejournal.com/306418.html).


End file.
